


Always Happens Anyway

by oakfarmer



Series: Always Universe [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluffy, Love without the reaping, Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Wish Fulfillment, canonical character death for tributes in the games, everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-05-20 01:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19367632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oakfarmer/pseuds/oakfarmer
Summary: The Butterfly Effect/Chaos Theory- "A butterfly flapping it's wings in District 12, can set off a tornado in the Capitol." If Effie's hand had landed just a bit to the left of the only 'Primrose Everdeen' slip, which moments would always happen anyway?





	1. Safe

The 75th Hunger Games had been a disaster for the Capital. Katniss felt nothing but relief at the card reading for that upcoming Quarter Quell. 'The Tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of Victors'. Safe. She and Prim were safe for another year. Her mother had been barely functional during the week before the reading, memories of the 50th Quarter Quell's double tribute requirements occasionally mumbled into the dark.

On the day of the Reaping, Effie Trinket had still made a fuss of pulling the only slip of paper out of each bowl. 'Haymitch Abernathy', surprisingly her shrill Capitolite voice had a softness behind it when reading his name, maybe even pain. If Katniss didn't know better, she may have described it as grief. 'Rooba Grouse' There was no detectable tenderness this time. The butcher's daughter had proven to be a formidable tribute during the 74th games. But it was the sadistic way she seemed to take pride in treating her kills as meat that had endeared her to the capitol's sponsors.

While the extra food her victory brought the district had helped fill out even the poorest of the Seam, the Grouses no longer stepped foot outside Victors Village. How did she expect the district to treat her after butchering the young girl from District 11? The viewings were mandatory but Katniss will forever be grateful that her mother had enough wits about her to order her and Prim to the bedroom. The sounds still haunt her nightmares.

There were grumbles about the Quell from the capitol. Disappointment over losing so many 'favorites' among the victors. They'd watched too many ridiculous interviews with Capitolites bawling, while multiple colors ran down their face, over the possibility of losing Finnick Odair. Rooba didn't even get past the cornucopia. She was the first target of the District 2 tribute with the predator grin. There was none of the usual somber respect the night her cannon sounded.

As Haymitch, Finnick, and their ally Beetee were dragging a wire and moving towards the arena wall instead of the beach, whispers of rebellion reverberated through the district. All three were laying on the forest floor after being blasted by the shock of Odair throwing his wired trident into the forcefield, just as the tree struck midnight. It looked like the arena was starting to crumble when the feed was cut.

Peacekeepers ordered everyone to stay in their homes for the next 2 days. Patrols passing by like the clockwork of the arena they had just been watching. When the projectors hummed on the morning of the 3rd day, President Snow was dead. It was said he died peacefully in his sleep…. along with several other top officials. A man named Plutarch was announced as the new President. The 75th Hunger Games had no victor.

President Plutarch's first official address was that since there was no victor, all districts would receive a shipment of supplies in honor of their fallen tributes. Gale ranted in the woods that a rebellion had been ripe to take off and they were trying to buy us off with some meager rations. Katniss sat stone faced while he raged, but couldn't find it in her to be upset about avoiding an all-out war and having a surplus of supplies for the up coming winter.

As the months passed, the rumors of uprisings in other districts were no more than faint memories. That winter was unusually harsh. Even Gale quieted down about the Capitol supplies, knowing it may have been the difference between life and death when the snare lines came up empty week after week.

The first signs of spring were starting to show, a few sparse dandelions just beginning to pop up in the meadow, when the announcement came to gather in the town square that evening. Katniss was still five months away from her final reaping in that same square. She would finally be safe, well about as safe as one can be in District 12. She'd have four more years to get through for Prim.

The Everdeen and Hawthorne clans stood together in the square. There was a buzz in the air, people seemed…excited? She looked around, there were a few pensive faces but many were relaxed and optimistic. Some of the children were debating if they would announce that the next supply train would be full of sweets. Katniss half snorted to herself, maybe Gale was right, how quickly they forget when their stomachs are full.

The screens filled with the familiar face of Caesar Flickerman. A hush fell over the square as they sucked in a collective breath. As the official announcer of the Hunger Games, he was more likely to be describing in detail the way the district's latest tributes had been slaughtered than details of any treats on the supply trains.

"Greetings Panem!" His voice boomed across the district. He started prattling on in his typical too chipper for the subject matter way. Katniss was still trying to decide what to call the new shade of blue he was covered in when the words spilled from his painted lips, "Panem must go forward united. The Past forgiven by the mercy of the Capitol, to step into our bright Future, together. And so, the era of the Hunger Games has come to an end."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters that survive the 75th games in canon are alive and well. A fact that District 12 never learns.


	2. Free

The new generational divide would be marked by those who had felt the terror of a clown reading a piece of paper and those who would never know that fear. Those who had spent their childhoods watching children murder one another in a 'game' and those who would only have their imagination to color their nightmares.

The moments after the announcement might best be described as jubilation. There had been a pause at first, waiting until the blue man finished. The thought crossed my mind that maybe they had devised an even worse game to play. But when Caesar reiterated that this was 'the start of a new dawn of cooperation and peace between districts and the Capitol', the square erupted into cheers. Mothers cradled their children with streams of joy sprinkling their hair. My own mother's smile was as big and genuine as the ones from before Father died. Prim squeezed me as tight as she could. "We're free Katniss!" she half whispered, half sobbed into my ear.

Free. While I certainly shared my sister's enthusiasm at no longer having to face the annual threat that she could be dragged off like a lamb to slaughter, free was not a word that came to mind. We were still surrounded by a gateless fence, the train being the only official way in or out. The threat of starvation always loomed. Perhaps she too had begun to forget from the ease of these last few years of plenty. Then there were the mines. When school finished this summer, I'd be expected to join the mine crews. I watched Gale over the past not even two full years, starting to slump the same way our fathers had. It was enough to reaffirm my conviction that I wouldn't survive down there in that underground tomb.

Still I wouldn't begrudge her this moment, so I simply squeezed her back as a few tears of my own fell into her pale braid. As I looked out over her shoulder, Gale was looking at me. He may have been one of the only less than thrilled faces in the whole district. I recognize what's written on his brow. The same look prey has when they catch our scent, he thinks this is a trap. I release Prim into the open arms of our mother.

I rest a hand on top of his crossed arms in what I hope is a reassuring gesture. "Can you believe Posy will never have her name in a reaping bowl?" His features soften but quickly return to their previous state.

"Why would you trust that any of this is real? They could turn around tomorrow and announce that this was all some sick joke?" He practically spits the words out at me with enough condescending tone to make me remove my hand from his arm.

"They could, but then they may have a real rebellion on their hands." The last part comes out in a low whisper. Even here, surrounded by family and neighbors, with enough noise to drown out Buttercup's morning yowls, the words could still be dangerous.

"And would that be such a bad thing? Maybe then we could finally be free of them!" There was that word again.

"Gale, real or not real, I don't know. But I'm not going to argue about it during what is clearly a time of celebration! I'll see you Sunday." And with that I turned back to Prim and Mother, who were still hugging but also trying to pretend they hadn't been listening to the heated exchange.

I lead them to the edge of the crowd. Even with happiness exuding from MOST everyone in the square, I'm starting to feel closed in by so many people. As we make our way, Prim stops for several hugs. I get a few unexpected pats on the shoulder by several familiar faces from my trade route. Maybe they had been worried about losing their supply of fresh meat with how many slips I should have had this year. 22. I slightly shudder at the thought. I return a silent nod and smile to each of them, they seem to understand.

We are in front of the town center shops when Prim excitedly grabs my arm, "Oh, Katniss! Can we get cookies, oh, maybe a small cake instead? To celebrate!" I glance over at the bakery. It looks like we'd be one of the earliest ones to have the idea to grab a treat on the way home. Though certainly not the first ones, as a small line has already formed inside. The bakery would normally be closed at this time, but I can see 3 blonde baker heads busily manning the front.

"Ok, Little Duck." Normally this would be a luxury we could sorely afford this time of year, but I have a few coins on me thanks to the capitol supplies carrying us through the cold months. Mother stays outside chatting with some old friends, as animated as I've ever seen her.

When we reach the counter, the youngest Mellark jumps in front of his older brother to help us. "Hi, Katniss!" His smile beams as brightly as Prim's did when I said 'yes' to the treat.

"Hey, Peeta." I'm sure my smile doesn't light up the room the way his is threatening to. Peeta Mellark, we are in the same grade and have shared plenty of classes together, but that's not why he stands out in my mind.

 

When our family was at our darkest hour, he saved us. It was 6 years ago now, but I can still see everything as vividly as the day it happened. Still feel where the loaves had turned my skin bright pink from the heat when I scooped them up into my shirt.

A little over a year ago, I finally worked up the courage to try to thank him for that bread. We'd bumped into each other in the hall at school. He’d been the first to say 'hi’. Around when Gale went into the mines and I took over the town trades, Peeta took over the trading duty from his dad.

Having to stand just yards away from the very apple tree I had been slumped against, the Boy with the Bread in front of me as I haggled over a squirrel was becoming unbearable. Not that I needed to haggle, he'd seen how mad I got when he tried to offer me a full loaf of fresh bread for one of the season's scraggliest squirrels. The next time I came by he said he was a tough 'Baker Man' and could only offer me one roll. The twinkle in his blue eyes and barely suppressed grin told me otherwise.

One morning I'd been so distracted thinking about his stupid lopsided grin, while I owed him my life, that I missed three shots in a row. I left the woods empty handed but headed straight to the bakery anyway. He opened the door and started into his usual, "Miss Katniss Everdeen, and what do we have to trade this fine morning." But I held up my hand and he faded off mid-sentence.

"Katniss, is everything okay?" I can't look at him, he sounds so genuinely concerned about my well being and I'm suppose to be here thanking him. I realize I must look a bit wild. Fresh from a frustratingly fruitless few hours in the woods, I spare a quick glance up to catch the side of a leaf in my hair.

"Yes, no. Peeta I need to say something." I fumble over my words while I flick the leaf to the ground. I look up, he's looking at me so intently that I wish I hadn't. After a deep breath, I finally find my voice. "Peeta, I need to thank you, for the bread." I emphasize 'the bread', praying he understands I'm not referring to the bread he's been handing me over the past few months.

It seems to dawn on him, "You mean from when we were kids? Katniss you don't need to thank m…"

"I do, you….you don't understand." I feel my eyes betray me as they begin to water but I don't dare let a drop fall. "That bread, saved not just my life, but my sister's and mother's too. It wasn't just a couple of loaves to us. It gave us hope, hope that we really could go on. To survive. It's one of the reasons I started going into the woods." I trail off during the part about the woods, I don't really want to explain to him that I associate him with dandelions. "So, Thank you, Peeta." My eyes are back on my side and I manage to meet his gaze.

"Wow" he almost breathes out the word, like he'd been holding in a breath. "Well…you're welcome, Katniss." Then he gives me that lopsided grin.

 

"What can I do for you ladies this exciting evening?" Peeta booms and Prim can hardly contain herself beside me.

"It is such an exciting, amazing evening! We're free! And Katniss says we can get a cake to celebrate!" It was almost imperceptible, but I had caught it, when Peeta's eyes narrowed ever so slightly when Prim said 'free'.

"Well, good thing you came in when you did. Dad thinks we may sell out of the sweets within the hour. I think I've got just the perfect one." He skips, literally skips, down the display case and pulls out a sweet single tier about the length of my hand. It's dotted with delicate pink and yellow roses. "We're already low but if you don't like this one…"

"No, this one really is perfect Peeta." My answer must have been what he was hoping to hear because somehow his smile has gotten even bigger.

"That'll be 2 coin, Miss Everdeen." He's switched into his Baker Man voice, but I know two coin is about half of what a cake like this should go for. I start to scowl but it doesn't deter him one bit. "That's my final offer Miss Everdeen, you can try but you won't find a better price anywhere else in town." Prim's mouth is practically drooling already. Everyone's in such a good mood, I decide to allow Peeta his nonsense, just this once. Almost.

"Alright Baker Man, 2 coin and one squirrel it is." I hand him the 2 coins with a satisfied smirk of my own. We start to turn to head home.

"Katniss, Dad says we're going to be completely slammed by the rush of toastings after this announcement. So if you want to make good on that squirrel deal, you may need to come by around closing time because I'll probably be up to my elbows in icing for the foreseeable future." And grin.

I hadn't thought about toasting season moving up because of this. Most couples wait until after their final reaping to toast, but with the threat of the reaping removed I can see the ones in a rush moving up the date. Peeta had told me last toasting season that it usually takes the bakery weeks of preparation to be ready for all the additional orders.

Prim is pulling me out the door by my sleeve, saying something about mother needing to see how lovely the cake is. So I just give him a wave while still wondering how many toastings there could be in the next month. Gale's words still lingering in the back of my mind as well, 'this could all be a sick joke'.


	3. Hope

Evidence of life peaks around every corner of the woods. Tracks in the melting mix of slush and mud, distant songs from the early birds that have returned from their winter travels, and the rustling among the branches that I'd been listening for all morning. I'd managed to bag a decent sized hare just after daybreak which left me with plenty of time to pay attention to the tree vermin.

 

The cake had been more delightful than I'd anticipated. We'd placed it in the center of our table and lit a candle on each side. Prim insisted on treating the occasion as if it were a brand-new holiday. I suppose that's exactly what the date had the potential to become. Mother brewed a mint tea while Prim prepped the table to her liking. As we sat, I was surprised by Mother's suggestion we each toast to a fallen tribute. The gesture felt fitting yet hollow, they had paid the ultimate price and here we were celebrating with baked goods. It could have just as easily been any one of us instead.

"To Maysilee Donner", Mother lifted her cup. She had been a classmate and friend of my mother's, chosen the year 48 tributes entered the arena and only Haymitch Abernathy returned home. "To Haymitch", of course Prim would manage to see the good in the town drunk. It was difficult to maintain a wholly negative opinion of him though, after watching the Quarter Quell. The sight of him comforting Finnick over the body of a lifeless Johanna Mason, after their run in with the District One siblings, is forever burned behind my eyes. "Rue", the single word filled the room as we all took a long sip of the warm liquid. Contemplating the horrors those names had endured, while we had merely watched.

Prim was the first to break the silence after serving each of us a third of the cake. I'd been tempted to tell her we should save some for another day, but I didn't want to interrupt the moment for that. The pieces were still modest enough, the request disappearing from my tongue after my first bite anyway. Orange zest hits first, followed by creamy filling surrounded by fluffy crumbles of vanilla cake. How something so rich can also be described as fluffy is a mystery all its own. The flowers are more detailed than I'd realized, as if they'd been skillfully painted in icing instead of piped from a bag.

"Oh, they're primroses!", she squealed across the table. I lift one of the yellow ones into the candlelight. Sure enough, what I had thought was a traditional rose is actually my sister's namesake flower. Perhaps I owe Peeta two squirrels.

 

I've already got one field dressed in my bag, next to the hare. The second has made the mistake of climbing half way down the tree trunk about 3 yards from my drawn bow. My fingers release and before I can exhale, the squirrel hangs limp from my arrow lodged into the tree.

Back in my kitchen, I set to the task of preserving the day's haul. I make quick work of the hare, setting aside the pelt and half the meat for the Hob. The other half warming in a pot for stew. I add some of the herbs and roots I'd busied myself with gathering while the squirrels had been wise enough to stay high in the tree tops.

Normally I'd be in school at this hour on a Friday, but the mayor announced classes would resume next week while we were still leaving the square last night. The miners had not received the same reprieve. Maybe they figured the ones most directly affected by the now canceled reaping would also be the most difficult to keep on task.

I hesitate as I pick up the squirrels. The standard trade is one field dressed plump squirrel for a day-old loaf of plain bread or 3 rolls for a thin one. If I can't bring them to the bakery until later, they need fully cured now. Its been a long time since I've skinned one, in fact I can hardly remember the last time I ate squirrel meat since I always take them straight to the bakery. I know it was sometime before I took over the town trade route anyway. Fortunately, my fingers seem to remember and both are salted and wrapped in reused bakery paper before I can think any more about what they tasted like.

Prim bounces into the kitchen with Mother following closely behind. "It's a girl! The first baby born in District 12 free from the Hunger Games!" After we crawled into bed last night, I asked Prim why she had said we were free when the capitol still has so much control over us. She looked thoughtful before finally answering, "Hope." My face must have looked like she had answered in another language. "Maybe we're not completely free yet, but the games seemed designed to make the districts hopeless places to live. If the Capitol and the new President are giving the Districts this much hope for the future, surely, they will be righting some of the other wrongs as well. It would be dangerous to give us this much hope otherwise." My little duck is growing into a woman before my eyes.

"Tell the Barley's congrats for me, what did they name her?" She's rocking back and forth heel to toe, hands clasped behind her back when she lets the word pop off her lips. "Hope." Prim sure looks proud of herself. I just smile and ruffle her hair on my way out to the Hob.

I've lingered around Greasy Sae's stand most of the afternoon. If she wonders why, she hasn't asked. After finishing my trades, I made several laps around the open secret black market. Watching each stands operator going about their business for the day. All those Seam faces up here on the earth's surface instead of down below in the dark. When the reaping loomed, it had felt presumptuous to plan beyond the next few meals. Now that going into the mines is the only thing looming, it feels foolish to have neglected to at least think about what would come next.

While nursing Sae's latest concoction of "beef" stew, I stared at the floating bits of basil and opossum as if they were tea leaves from the stories of fortune tellers long before the Dark Days. The thought of tea reminded me of mother's healing brews. The apothecary in town had changed hands to another merchant family with too many sons when mother's parents died the year Prim was born. People from the Seam very rarely went there. They were always busy enough just from other merchants so refused to deal in any trades. Mother was the only trained healer in the Seam, and now thankfully had Prim studying under her. There are others who can manage for minor things but any real emergency the knock comes on our door.

Our family's Plant Book had been instrumental in our survival after Peeta threw me the bread. The dandelion was the first edible plant I had remembered from the book. Seeing the yellow flower, after I flitted my eyes away from his, made something click in my mind. Maybe the herbal plant section could be instrumental in keeping me out of the mines. I can quickly identify many of the ones mother needs most often. If we made some of her balms, ointments and teas in bulk, I could set up a stand for them. Facetiously name it the 'Everdeen Apothecary'. My eyes were still fixed on a small open corner of the Hob when a few booths started packing up for the night.

I knock on the back door. It should be late enough now; the bakery only stays open for another 15 minutes. His expression goes from puzzled to his usual wide smile after seeing me holding up the paper bundle.

"You brought the squirrel already?! I didn't think you'd really come this late, Katniss. You can still trade whenever you want. I was just joking with you." His sweat soaked shirt and multi colored apron tell me he's been as busy as he expected to be. "Well, maybe the icing to my elbows part wasn't a joke." He chuckles while rubbing the back of his neck. Is he nervous?

I shrug, "It looks like your dad was right about the toastings. If you didn't have time to prep them today, they would have gone bad." I grimace a bit when I realize I said 'they'. He takes the package and peaks inside.

"Oh, nice you got two today, spring must have sprung out there. And an expert curing on top of that. I'll be right back with a loaf." He's already fully turned away from me when I blurt, "No! Wait." He whips back around. Things must have been chaotic today, he seems so frazzled.

"That's for the cake, Peeta. No bread today." His smile falters at this. I pipe back up, "It's a fair trade." I fold my arms, attempting to convey that this is a done deal.

"Ok, just, will you wait here for just a minute?" I squint my eyes before answering, he seems to guess my suspicion. "I promise I'll come back empty handed." I nod and he takes off. I can hear his heavy foot steps on the stairs leading to the bakery's 2nd floor apartment.

When he comes back, he steps out the door and closes it behind him. He's in a fresh long sleeve shirt and too light of a jacket, but the same flour dusted pants. I back up to make space for his large frame on the stoop. He holds up both hands, "See, nothing." A grin escapes my lips and I shake my head. "Katniss, will you please allow me to walk you home. It's getting late and well I'd…. like to walk with you." His hand is rubbing the back of his neck again. I don't know what I expected him to say when he came back, but this was not it.

I can't really think of a reason to deny him this so I simply answer, "Okay, I'll allow it."


	4. Gift

I'm fuming. Why did he even have an opinion about this? As long as he shows up for our Sunday hunts, I don't say a word about how he chooses to spend the rest of his time. And I certainly hadn't expressed my opinion one way or another when he said he would go to the mines. They are inarguably the most lucrative choice available to most of the Seam.

Reminding him that he had more mouths to feed than I did had really set him off.

"That's not the point! And who knows how many more mouths there could be down the road. You know girls don't stay in the mines forever!" This was true enough. Merchants were the ones who toasted as soon as they escaped the reaping. Seam waited two or three extra years, building a nest egg and storing supplies before adding any more 'mouths' to the mix.

Birth control was illegal in the Districts. Another 'luxury' relegated to the black market. Couldn't have the labor pool suddenly drying up. Mother was careful not to become known for being able to provide it. She only gave out her mix sparingly to trusted friends with the greatest needs. The main ingredients weren't the easiest to come by anyway. The goat man's wife ran a rather popular Hob stand though. Her products weren't nearly as appealing to the senses as mother's tea.

A few couples would toast in private and file the official paperwork later. That was when the timestamp started. Too many years without filing for a birth certificate and they could expect a visit from the Peacekeepers along with a Capitol doctor making the rounds to confirm all was well. It seemed dangerous to make it official at all if the woman wasn't already expecting, but the paperwork came with a housing assignment and a year's supply of tesserae for the new couple. Enough incentive for most.

 

The morning had started fine. Gale agreed there wasn't much use in continuing to speculate about what the Capitol could do and we fell into our familiar Sunday routine. The first half spent in silence to not scare off the game. We don't need words out here. A simple hand signal can communicate exactly what each of us needs. We can almost anticipate the others movements without the signals at this point.

Our game bags hold 3 quails each when we move on to the snare line. Gale's newest snares have been getting more elaborate and effective. If we ever need to split the woods, the Hawthorne's could likely do just fine from the traps, while I stick with my bow and the lake. This is the basic divide during the week anyway. Gale's younger brother, Rory, is capable enough now that he runs the line on week days. Rory and I are just passing shadows in the morning as we head in our separate directions. I stay within earshot in case of any trouble until he's finished and on his way back to the fence. If one of us is having a dry week, we still make sure the other has enough to get by.

We don't need to be quiet anymore as we check what the traps already hold. Gale tells a story about Vick's latest school yard antics. We laugh about trying to come up with a new name for Sae's stew 'should the locals suspect'.

"Speaking of the Hob, I've decided what I'm going to do after school." I tell him about my mini apothecary. How I'm planning on using a variation of the technique he uses on the strawberry patch to help in gathering the herbs. He doesn't respond at first, the racoon he's cleaning seems to require all of his attention.

When he finally speaks, it's not the response I had been hoping for. "You might be able to scrape by with something like that. You'd probably earn double in the mines if you could stand them for at least a few years. They're not so bad once you adjust." His voice is flat.

I can hardly believe what he's saying. As long as we have enough, why would I ever set a foot in the mines? I don't want to push him on this. He's the one down there every day, it'd be cruel to list off all the reasons I refuse. "I need to at least give it a try. See how it goes. I'll have a couple months before school's even done to test it."

 

While Peeta walked me home Friday night, he filled me in on which couples were toasting early. Only one couple was from the Seam. They had come into the bakery for a specific bread, not a cake. I remembered several times in the last month Leevy running to the bathroom at school. I hadn't thought much of it until now. Peeta had saved the couple he was most excited about for last.

"And…. Rye and Delly!" His childhood friend would soon be his sister in law. Delly was claiming that telling everyone Peeta was her brother when they were kids had been prophetic. I couldn't tell which he was more excited about, his brother toasting or that Delly said he could do whatever he wanted with their cake.

"The primroses were stunning, you really out did yourself." Fondly recalling the other cake, he had free reign on.

During one of our morning trading exchanges, the kind that have almost made me and Prim late for school a handful of times, I told Peeta how much Prim admired the display cakes in the window. He admitted that he was the one who decorated all the cakes. "Well, you are a true icing artist." He blushed a little at the new title I had given him. He told me he did some painting too whenever he could get ahold of the supplies. "I'd love to see one of your paintings!" His cheeks darkened even more. He only replied with, "Maybe one day." I still haven't seen one.

"I'm glad you enjoyed them. I've been working on trying to perfect those for a little while. They're harder than they look." I don't know that they looked particularly easy. Our pace slows, we've already made it to the start of the Seam.

I tell him about my Hob apothecary idea, even about the name that's a bit of a jab at my mother's parents.

"That sounds like a great idea, it's about time District 12 had an Everdeen Apothecary! You know, I've never actually been in the Hob. I'll need to go so I can be your first customer! I can always use more burn cream." Peeta's enthusiasm is contagious.

"Well, wait til I get a booth set up, otherwise you may get lost in there." I laugh thinking of Peeta wandering all over the Hob asking where he can find the 'Everdeen Apothecary'. "Right now, there's just an empty corner I think I can fit into."

"Oh, we have a few pallets at the bakery from the last shipment. I was supposed to break them down for fire wood. I bet we could make something quite nice out of them." My eyebrow goes up at 'we'. "I mean I'd love to help you get set up anyway I can. Me and my brothers built the bench that's in front of the bakery."

His offer is way too generous. He's so eager to help and I hadn't even started thinking about the logistics of getting a booth built. "That's an amazing offer Peeta, you know I'll have to trade you for the pallets and carpentry skills."

He looks up for a moment then comes back with, "If you traded the burn cream, would I still be considered your first customer?"

By the time we reached my porch, the plan was set for me to be back at the bakery at closing time again the next night. Peeta waved bye and ran off like he was in a rush to get back home. Inside Prim and Mother were just as excited about the new venture as Peeta had been.

I knock on the back door of the bakery, this time holding a jar of burn cream. I'd spent the morning filling my game bag with the herbs for the burn cream and some of mother's most popular teas. Peeta's trade request seemed like the perfect opportunity to make the bulk batch while putting together his jar.

"Miss Everdeen, I see you have brought the requested medicinal goods, and what does that make me?" He's ridiculous.

"You're customer #1, Peeta." He beams; he's so proud of this.

"I have a surprise for you." He says it so fast, already reaching to the side of the door. At first it looks like a small board and some rope. Then he flips it around.

Painted in gorgeous handwriting, the white letters 'Everdeen Apothecary' are bordered by a dozen different herbs that look just as accurate as in our Plant book.

"Wow. That's …. it's too much." He doesn't even blink.

"You said you wanted to see one of my paintings. I had a lot of fun making it. This size, I figured you could pack it up at the end of the night. Please, it's a gift." While his smile is just as wide, I see a flash of doubt in his eyes. I hate that I made his eyes look like that.

"It's beautiful, Thank you Peeta." You'd think I promised him the sun.

With Peeta's help the booth came to life. It was simple enough. Three waist high walls and a counter top. A shelf underneath and two shelves hung off the wall behind me. He insisted I do the honors of hanging the sign on the hook.

 

It was the sign that had turned Gale's mood from annoyed to combative.

After we'd finished the trades for the day, I took him to see the booth. He scoffed at the sign. "Your Merchant half is shining through." Then he started ranting about the position I'd be putting my family in. Thinking he meant about having our name written in the Hob, I remove the sign to show him.

"It comes right off. I'm going to pack it up with my supplies." I hug it to my chest. Trying to protect the little bit of beauty in this place from Gale's scorn.

"That is not what I mean. I mean you'll always be on the edge of survival. Never quite enough." He's just spewing arguments now. I'm not sure he even believes half of them himself. We go back and forth for longer than I can stand. I might be concerned about this deterring future customers if everyone currently in the Hob didn't already know us.

I've had enough, "Look, I won't run the stand on Sundays. If it doesn't bring in enough, I'll think about other options. In the meantime, it's not really your business."

"You're right it's not my business." The last 's' comes out in a hiss. Before he continues, he closes his eyes and breathes deep. Making some semblance of an effort to calm down. "Good luck playing shop." And with that he walked out of the Hob.

I'm still clutching Peeta's gift. I take a moment to really study it. Trying to identify each of the herbs he chose. My focus falls on a dandelion flower in the corner.


	5. Life

Peeta comes bounding into the Hob. “You ready to go?”

“Yes, I’ve got everything packed.” I answer while lifting the handle of the small cart that holds my supplies. Peeta takes the handle from me and we make our way to the exit. This had become a familiar sight over the past several weeks.

After we returned to school, I used the first week’s afternoons to gather and make medicines. Mother had some ideas on which recipes could be popular. Things people wouldn’t necessarily go see a healer for but would likely buy if they could do so conveniently and/or discreetly at the Hob. Her pregnancy preventing tea wasn’t as well kept of a secret as I’d originally thought. I’ve already had multiple people ask if I would be stocking some anytime soon.

Even Delly had asked me about the tea at lunch one day. She and Peeta had started joining me and Madge’s table sometime around the end of last school year. She was giving us all the upcoming toasting details and discussing their future plans when she brought up the apothecary.

“Peeta’s told me all about your apothecary stand, Katniss! Rye has some tricks that should put off Rye Juniors for a little while, but I’d happily buy some of your mother’s tea from you.” I’d choked a bit on my sandwich when she said ‘tricks’. How many people know about that tea?

I tried to explain that I wasn’t sure if I was going to be offering the contraband brew yet. I was much too pink in the face discussing the topic when Peeta thankfully changed the subject. “It probably makes more sense for me to come to the apothecary for trades, than it does for you to come to the bakery now. I could come by after closing and help you carry everything back home.”

The other vendors greet us warmly as we pass by. They’d been leery of the blonde baker when he first began coming to the Hob but he’d quickly charmed them. Between frequenting some of the stands with bread or coins and the easy-going rapport he seemed to be able to have with anyone, they probably liked him more than me at this point.

“I can’t wait for you to see the cake tomorrow night!” Peeta exclaims on our way out. Delly had invited me and Madge to her toasting. I’d been hesitant to accept the invite but Delly assured me others from the Seam would be there and that her future mother-in law had been warned to be nice. Delly is so friendly to everyone that its going to be quite the crowd.

 

Sunday morning in the woods when I check our meeting spot, I am surprised to see Gale waiting there. He’s been avoiding me since the Hob fight. I know he’s still been in the woods, but I didn’t make an extra effort to cross his path. Figured the space may be best for both of us. The nights he eats at Greasy Sae’s, we just give each other a silent nod as he passes my stand.

I sit next to him on our rock, the space between us wider than it was before.

“How’s the Hob going?” He speaks first. I pause before I answer. The past month has proved he’d been right. I won’t make as much as I could in the mines. At least not for a while. I might get close if I added the requested tea. But it’s also proved we won’t starve if I keep doing this. So, I answer, “Well enough.”

He simply nods and we start our hunt. We don’t speak again until he’s leading the way to the snare line. This time I’m the one who speaks first. “Does this mean I’ll see you next Sunday or are you going to keep leaving me without a hunting partner?”

He releases a puff of air. “I don’t know Catnip, there’s some rumors going around I’d like cleared up.” Rumors? If one more person brings up that tea….

“What’s up with you and the baker boy?” He turns around to look at me as he asks.

“Peeta? We’re friends, I’ve told you about him before.” I know I’ve talked about him from school.

“You’ve mentioned his name a few times but not why he’s taking you home every night.” I don’t like what Gale’s insinuating.

“He just helps me get the supplies back home from the Hob.”

“If he doesn’t help you bring them to the Hob, why do you need help getting them home? I saw you two rubbing shoulders with that little cart in tow. You definitely don’t need Baker boy to pull that. The Goat lady told me you bring the cart in, and then he shows up every night.” He acts like he’s caught me in some scandalous lie.

“The Goat lady told ya that, huh? Before one of your slag heap trips? What does it matter? He’s my friend, I’m going to his brother’s toasting tonight.” Gale folds his arms after this.

“You’re even getting cozy with his family.” Now it’s my turn to cross my arms.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Gale. I have a life outside of the woods!” The expression on his face is not one I have seen from him before. Like I’ve betrayed him somehow.

“When did I stop being part of that?” He says softly.

He steps forward. I hold my ground, but then he puts his hands on my cheeks and kisses me. His lips are firm and he smells like apples, and smoke, and the woods. Before I can even respond, he pulls back.  
“I had to do that, at least once.” He walks away towards the snare line. I don’t follow.

 

The Bride and Groom look so happy as they cut up Peeta’s masterpiece. I like to imagine it would have rivaled anything the fancy capitol bakers could do. Three smooth tiers with an over flowing cascade of delicate sugar flowers. Each one so expertly crafted you’d think they’d only been cut from the stem this morning. Delly’s favorite color is pink but Peeta has blended in soft, bright, and peach pink petals with sprigs of greenery. The combination is so beautiful I regret having belittled the color before.

It had been on one of our walks when Peeta revealed the color preference after I’d asked about the cake. “Well Delly loves pink….”

“Pink? Bleh.” I say while scrunching my nose.

“I just realized something.” Peeta raised his eyebrows. “We’ve known each other all this time and I don’t know what your favorite color is.”

“Green.” I smile. “What’s yours?”

“Orange.” I scrunch my nose again. “Not bright orange, soft like the sunset.”

Peeta interrupts my musings. “I told you I could make pink look good.” He’s behind me, leaning in to congratulate himself in my ear.

I turn around but take a half step back. Very aware of our close proximity. “It really was stunning, Peeta.” I’ve already told him this earlier when he brought it out. I had declared it a crime that we were going to eat something so beautiful.

“Now you can tell me if it tastes as good as it looks.” He holds up a plate.

The night carries on in the traditional order. After the shared meal we all escort the couple to their new home. Delly’s younger brother will take over the family shoe shop eventually. He’s only seven now though and the shop has more work than it can handle. Rye’s been splitting his time between the shoe shop and the bakery. The new couple has been assigned a Merchant rowhouse, just around the corner from both jobs.

Rye is carrying the bread they will use for the toasting in one arm, his other wrapped tight around Delly’s waist. As they climb the steps to their new home, we all sing the wedding song. On the last verse, the couple share a kiss then walk arm-in-arm over the threshold.

Peeta is at my side, standing too close again. “Are you ready to go home, Katniss?” His voice is low.

“Yea, I guess I should head that way.” I start walking. Hands in my pockets. Peeta falls in lockstep beside me. “You don’t need to walk me home tonight, Peeta.”

His feet falter. “Did…..did I do something wrong?” There’s an edge of panic in his voice now.

“No, just tired. I’ll be alright.” I try to say it as evenly as I can. He’s eyeing me with a mix of concern and suspicion.

“Ok, have a good night Katniss.” He turns, his heavy feet carry him in the opposite direction.

“Goodnight, Peeta.” I say to the night air.

The silent walk home allows my thoughts to go back to Gale’s question. About his part in my life outside of the woods. Things had shifted when he went into the mines. It had been hard at first, hunting alone six days a week. I missed him, not just as a hunting partner. Missed the space he took up on our rock, our snare line talks. There were also things I slowly realized I didn’t miss; his rants about the Capitol, his quips if I missed a shot.

Even before the mines though, how much life was there outside the woods? When I started, I had to spend every second I could in the woods, stumbling my way just to be on the brink of starving. Our partnership helped both of us grow into fully competent, well rounded hunters. What we would have become if our fathers could have finished teaching us.

It was always about survival. What if we didn’t need each other to survive anymore?


	6. Warm

Peeta came to the Hob each night. And each night, I walked home alone. The third night, he had been looking at the ground when he asked, “Should I go back to the bakery, Katniss?”. I said he could, and he walked away without looking up.

In an attempt to avoid his questions, I’d found a supply closet at school to eat my lunch. Twice, I’d skipped the history class we shared to count how many pencils the school has.

On the fourth night, Peeta did not come to the Hob. I haven’t even laid eyes on him today. I can’t confirm if he was at school or not. What if he was sick? Maybe I’d have something in my cart to help. What if it was something worse?

I find myself knocking on the familiar back door. When he opens it, I can see that he is not sick, but I don’t feel relieved. His mouth is in a thin line as he leans against the door frame with crossed arms.

“I don’t show up once, and suddenly, I’m worth your time again.” I wince at the words.

I’ve seen this side of him before. Cold. After the Harvest festival last fall, a few months into the Capitol regime change.

 

The bakery is one of the busiest shops in the square during the festival. They may see even more traffic than the sweet shop. Still the brothers have always taken turns so that they could join in the festivities for one hour each.

Rye spins Delly as they dance to the high tempo beat played by the district’s rudimentary band. The song wraps up, and they make their way over to where Prim and I are watching the paired-up party goers. Laughing even though both are almost out of breath, as Rye weaves Delly through the crowd.

“Alright, I leave her with you Katniss, I trust she’s in good hands.” Rye says before pecking Delly on the cheek. “It’s Baby Baker’s turn.” He sprints off towards the bakery, probably already pushing the limits of his time allotment.

Delly’s still a bit giggly and breathy when she asks, “So, are you saving a dance for Peeta?”

I’ve only ever danced with Prim. The lively folk songs are our favorite. Gale used to ask during one of the slower songs each year. My answer was always that he’d end up with a broken toe and hate me on our hunt the next morning. He didn’t ask last year, I guess he found someone who didn’t give such a prickly response.

“I don’t really dance.” She tilts her head, studying me. I don’t know what she’s concluded when we hear, “Hey Prim, wanna dance?”

Rory Hawthorne is bouncing up and down in front of us. At 14 he’s already taller than me and apparently quite popular. I’m not sure if he’s danced with anyone for more than two songs yet.

Prim looks at me out of the corner of her eye. I just smile waiting to see what she’ll tell him.

“Sure!” She takes his hand and they search for an open space.

“Hey, you two!” ‘Baby Baker’ has arrived. I’m still amused by Rye’s pet name for him. He looks like he ran from the bakery as fast as Rye was running towards it. I’m almost surprised he remembered to take off his apron.

“Peeta, you made it! Sorry about cutting into your hour, we got a little carried away.” Delly greets him.

“No problem, I told him, he will owe me 11 minutes next year.” He winks at me or her, both of us, I guess. 

“Well, I better try to find my parents. It’s getting past Davy’s bedtime, and I’m on babysitting duty tonight.” I know her little brother is still recovering from a bout with the flu, explains why he’d be going to bed at half past 5. She waves before wandering into the crowd.

“You look beautiful, Katniss.” I’m wearing a blue dress from mother’s merchant days. She only has four that she has carefully saved. I’ve worn this particular one several times, though I am filling it out better than in years past. Prim plaited my hair up, so it is off my neck. I squirm under the compliment while smoothing the skirt.

“Would you like to dance?” Peeta bends his arm and extends his elbow to me.

“I don’t really dance.” Repeating what I’d told Delly earlier.

“I’ve seen you and Prim out there lots of times. You two always look like you’re having so much fun.” He lowers his arm. There’s nothing accusatory in his tone, more like he’s recalling a fond memory.

“Well, I can do the folk dances.”

“We’re in luck then!” He reoffers me his elbow as one of the best traditional songs has been playing during this conversation.

This time I loop my arm through his and we take our places among the other dancers. Peeta doesn’t know the steps as well as I do but manages to follow my lead. The songs come fast, one after the other. We twirl and laugh. I may be laughing as much as Delly was, when the music changes.

It’s the valley song. An old, soft song about the land our district sits in. Peeta opens his arms. I’m feeling so light, like we’re floating now. He takes one of my hands and rests the other high on my waist. I rest my free hand on his shoulder as we sway.

The high is starting to come down. My eyes start to dart, unable to decide where they should be resting, when Peeta speaks.

“I remember when you sang this song.” Our eyes lock. “It was the first day of school. The teacher asked who could sing The Valley song, and your hand shot right up. And every bird outside fell silent.” Peeta’s voice is steady but quiet.

“How can you remember that?” I have a vague memory of the day he’s describing. Now, I’m not sure how much of it is my own, or the picture Peeta just painted.

“I remember lots of things about you.” He drops my hand to tuck a loose hair behind my ear. His other hand starts to slide toward my back. He’s closing the gap between us. I see what’s coming. My eyes flutter closed as our lips meet. He’s so warm. Our mouths meld together. I can smell the bakery. Flour. Sugar. Something salty that must just be Peeta. We break apart too soon.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He whispers.

What have I done?

My eyes go wide. The warmth of his embrace is becoming a snare.

“Umm, I’m sorry, Peeta. I need to go.” I wiggle out of the trap his arms have set. And disappear into the sea of lovers.

I stayed away from school for as long as I safely could without Peacekeepers knocking on our door. When I saw him again, he didn’t look well. Maybe his nights had been as sleepless as mine. I told him I couldn’t speak with him anymore, and we each went back to our respective corners of the lunchroom.

Winter came early that year. The bitter cold blew through my hunting jacket like it was made of silk. I had made a frivolous trek to my father’s lake. I’d thought once the fire was roaring inside the rundown shack on the bank, that I would be ok. It could barely warm my fingertips.

I watched the flames flicker. Thinking about how the fire Peeta dropped the bread into must have looked just the same. I’d thought going cold turkey would snuff out the spark he had ignited with that kiss. If anything, the spark now resembled what sat in front of me. I don’t want to lose the Boy with the Bread.

This can’t wait. The sun is starting to set but I knock anyway.

“Katniss?? What are you doing here?” This is a tone I’ve never heard from him before. The natural tenderness that had seemed to always punctuate his words is not there. I suppose I don’t deserve tenderness right now. I’ve been torturing both of us for two months.

“I needed to see you. To talk.”

“Why?” The initial bite is gone, his voice is more neutral now.

“I just got scared, Peeta.” I look at him now. Really look at him. My eyes pleading for him to understand me.

“Scared of what?” He sounds like himself again.

“I don’t want kids. Not here.” The words quickly spill out my mouth.

He blinks. “That’s not how babies are made, Katniss.” Does he think I’m an idiot?

But then he laughs. One of his deep belly laughs. I smile for the first time in weeks.

“You scared me too, you know? I thought I’d lost you.” There’s a depth of sincerity in his face. Like he’s aged a year.

“So, what do we do now?” He asks.

“Can you just……go slow, Peeta?”

The lopsided grin returns, “I have the patience of a saint Miss Everdeen.”

“Peeta Mellark.” He holds out his hand like we’ve only just met.

His warm, calloused hand envelopes mine. We shake and he gives me a reassuring squeeze.

 

“You ready to tell me what’s going on yet?” In the cold tone I had hoped to never hear again.

“Gale saw us walking back from the Hob.”

“And?” He draws out the ‘a’.

“And he said we looked…. cozy, or something like that.”

“We don’t look too cozy now.” I survey our positions. His hasn’t changed since he opened the door, still leaning against the frame. My arms are wrapped around my stomach defending my vulnerable organs. “I’ve been told on more than one occasion, that you and Gale are just friends. More like a brother and sister, than even me and Delly are.”

“We are… or were? He kissed me.” I see the indifference on Peeta’s face fall. He looks sad.

“And you’re together now?”

“NO!” That came out more forceful than I intended. “It was like a.....” I still don’t know what to call it really. “….a farewell.”

Peeta looks thoughtful. I decide that now is the time.

“I want to show you something. Can Rye cover your shift on Saturday?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a One Shot from Delly’s perspective titled In Between the Lines.


	7. Food

He doesn’t even hesitate. It takes him a bit of effort to fit his wide shoulders through the gap, but he pops up eager to go. Most of the district is scared to even step a toe past the fence. Some will gather just past it, always staying within sight so that if trouble arises, they can run back. I’m sure more would be willing to try if they could get their hands on a real weapon. Attempting a knife fight with any of the predators that rule the woods would likely be a losing proposition.

I’d asked him, when we were planning the trip, if he was nervous. “What do I have to worry about? I have the best huntress in Panem to protect me.” If I told him it was safe, I think he would follow me into the depths of the ocean. 

Peeta is so LOUD. It’s like the leaves and twigs pile up just under his foot before he steps down to crush every single one of them. Good thing I had not expected to get any hunting done this morning. I doubt there is even a mouse within a mile of us. 

“It’s beautiful! I can see why you love it out here.” His neck has been whipping around in all directions. Eyes soaking in every detail with a child-like wonder. If he thinks the underside of a few pines is beautiful, I don’t know what word will be left when we get where I’m leading him. 

“Wow.” He breathes it out, once we’re in the clearing. The lake does look exceptionally wonderful today. The sun is in just the right spot to make the surface of the water sparkle within the bowl of trees. 

“This is my father’s lake. I’ve never shared it with anyone else.” There are smaller ponds and streams throughout the woods that Gale and I frequent to fish and stalk the game that comes for a drink. But this is so precious to me that I’ve kept it for myself.

If I didn’t know that Gale has also tucked away a few of his most abundant trapping grounds, I might feel a pang of guilt for hiding such a rich food source. Gale may trust me with his life, but not with the lives of his entire family. 

“Thank you, Katniss.” I hope he understands the gravity of what this means to me. The way he is looking at me, I think that he does. 

He drops the overstuffed bag he’s been packing and walks towards the shore. I told him, I wanted to bring him into the woods but not about our final destination. The shorts and paint supplies I asked him to bring, may have been a hint though. 

We build a small fire, and I teach him how to fish. Along the water’s edge, we push aside the arrow shaped leaves to dig down into the mud, pulling up the bulbous roots. 

“I’ve only seen pictures of these. Been wanting to see one up close so I can paint them properly.” Peeta’s holding the white and deep red flowers, studying them. 

“Father told me that he gave me the name Katniss because, as long as I could find myself, I would never go hungry.”

“Never eaten katniss before.” I see his face flush before quickly adding. “I mean is it like a potato?” 

We are both stuffed full of charred trout, roasted katniss, and oatmeal rolls. Peeta takes his art supplies from the bag. As he begins to capture the scene before us, I watch him. The way his steady hand moves with each stroke. I recognize the look on his face, the same one I’ve seen in the bakery kitchen. 

If Peeta’s not quite finished with a cake at closing, he brings me back to the bakery so we can talk while he adds the finishing touches. It was fascinating to watch him work. The way his eyebrows creased ever so slightly, his tongue would occasionally peak out the side of his lips, and his deep blue eyes darkened in focus. 

I peak at the canvas so far. The lake is slowly coming to life. Surrounded by tree covered hills, a small building taking shape on the side, and I can see the beginning of two small figures sitting by the shore. 

Peeta’s already coming up with ideas for how to fix up the old shack, when I tell him to go in there and put on his shorts. “You can look Katniss, I don’t mind.” I push him the rest of the way through the door and shut it between us. 

I stripped down to the tank top and shorts I wore underneath my hiking clothes. Peeta comes out in his shorts and nothing else. The spattering of freckles across his chest reminds me of the stars on a clear night. 

He takes my hand into his and I pull him towards the water. The cool hits our legs as we wade out. Happy to be under the blanket of the dark pool, I feel my muscles begin to relax. We splash and laugh with our feet sinking into the squishy ground. Peeta doesn’t know how to swim, hardly anyone in 12 does. Unless they’re willing to go to one of the ponds in the woods, there isn’t anywhere to learn. He takes to floating on his back without too much coaching from me. 

Relaxing with his eyes closed while the sunlight glistens off his wet eyelashes, I know I’ve done something right. Seeing him among the scenery. My two worlds, inside and outside the fence, blending together into one. 

After our arms and legs are spent, we sit side-by-side on the bank. Our cool bodies drying in the warm sun. No light passes between where our skin meets. This time, I am the one who needs more. 

I lean over and place my lips on top of his. His hands reach under my jaw as our mouths move together. It’s been so long since we shared the kiss at the Harvest Festival. I wanted just a small taste of that moment again, but this, this is something different. Hunger. I wrap my legs around him and his hands find their way into my damp hair. We are both panting for air before I move back. 

When I open my eyes, I see the worry in his. We’ve pushed too far, too fast. I could bolt into the woods and leave him here at any moment. I can feel it. The fear, love is the same as loss. But I can also feel that it’s not engulfing me. The hole may be there but I don’t have to step into it. 

He’s silently pleading with me. He rests his forehead on mine and finally speaks, “Stay with me.”  
I wish he could paint the smile that grows on his face, when I answer, “Always.”


	8. Heal

I thought I would need to track him, but his footprints lead straight to our usual rock. He’s sitting there like nothing at all has changed.

“I did not appreciate the way you kissed me, Gale.” I scold him, as I sink into my spot. He nods, as if I’ve told him I prefer butter over honey.

“Peeta and I are together now.” Might as well get this over with.

“I know, I told you I saw the two of you. Just wanted you to tell me to my face.” He states matter of fact.

I shouldn’t have to defend myself on this. “There was nothing to tell, we were friends when you asked about him. We only just decided to be something more than that, yesterday.”

He lets out a humorless laugh. “Refusing to name something doesn’t mean it’s not there. You’re always the last person to realize what’s plain as day to everyone else.”

Now this I resent. His smug sense of superiority. Hadn’t he missed some signs between me and him? It’s like he can almost read my thoughts when he responds.

“I knew we had grown apart. That much was obvious. I guess, I’d assumed we were just biding our time. Once you joined the mine crew, we would go back to before. I’d be showing you the ropes down there, protecting you. Things would take their natural course from there. Whenever you were ready to be an adult.” His fiery anger isn’t really in these words. More resigned but still fitting in that last little jab.

“Then Baker boy came along….”

“Peeta.” I interject. How many baker nicknames does one man need?

“Peeta came along. I thought you were only ever happy in the woods. When I saw you walking together, for a split second I didn’t believe it was you. I’d never seen your face like that, not even out here. And certainly, never looked at me the way you were looking at him.”

I’m trying to imagine this world Gale had envisioned. What piece of the puzzle needed to be switched to bring about those events. Maybe if the Boy with the Bread had thrown the loaves to the pigs instead of the starving girl, then Gale could have toasted with her corpse. No matter which piece I move on the board, it feels like this is how things play out. As long as Peeta and I are both alive, it always happens anyway.

I’m still running scenarios in my mind when Gale says, “I’m going to District 2.”

My eyes go wide. I would not have expected him to want anything to do with that. “For the Peace Program??”

 

There’d been a mandatory viewing a couple weeks back. The first half was all about the new entertainment the Capitol would be offering to replace the Hunger Games. It was absolutely nauseating. At least weird match-making shows and tearing down houses to build prettier houses didn’t involve forcing anyone in the districts to participate.

But then Caesar turned over the rest of the announcement to President Plutarch himself. He laid out two new programs for the districts. Tesserae is now de-coupled from both the Hunger Games system and the Marriage system. It will be given on a needs basis to all ages and can be applied for at the Justice Building.

As a ‘concession’ (Plutarch’s word choice), for no longer providing newly weds with the year’s supply of grain and oil, the Capitol would be removing the minimum birth requirement. Birth control was now legal in all districts.

The lifting of the prohibition had certainly made things less complicated about offering it at the Hob. My biggest hurdle now was trying to gather the needed ingredients. It had been hard enough to put together the satchel I gave Delly as a toasting present. Peeta was quick to point out that this meant couples could officially marry and still get a housing assignment without ever having children.

The second program was dubbed the ‘Peace Program’. Districts were now required to fill 15 percent of the Peacekeeper forces with their own citizens. All head peacekeepers were to be replaced at the end of their existing contracts. The most qualified candidate within the Peace Program for that District would receive the job.

 

“I didn’t think you, of all people, would be eager to work for the Capitol.” I’m truly confused how he can go from years of hating them, to joining their army.

“If they’re dumb enough to train me and put a weapon in my hand….” He shakes his head while looking off into the trees. “It’s quite a bit of power they are trusting back to the Districts. I’ve seen the list of who’s signed up from 12 so far. Cray’s only 4 years away from retirement. I think I have a good shot at his position.”

Now this I don’t doubt. I am sure Gale could be an excellent solider and leader. He’s already a crew chief down in the mines.

“If I can help it, I’ll never have to see another starving Seam mother at that doorstep.” He looks back to me with a steely gaze. His barely suppressed rage bubbling beneath the surface.

“When do you leave?” I ask after averting my eyes from his swirling grey ones.

“I’ll be on the train tomorrow morning.” My mouth falls open, this is happening so fast.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Four years isn’t all that long, if I’m trying be named Head Peacekeeper. I’ll need as much training as I can get. They said I can send home as much of my paycheck as I want, so nothing really holding me here anymore, is there?”

It’s not a question for answering. I know he’s referring to me. He stands. “You think we can get a deer today?” I stand to join him for what may be our last hunt together.

We don’t get the deer but it is a fruitful day all the same. After we divide up the spoils, I skate my arms around him in a tight hug.

“Goodbye, Gale.”

“Goodbye, Catnip.” I watch his tall form shrink into the distance.

 

Pain. Instantly screaming at me to inform me of the mistake I’ve made.

What had started as a typical summer morning, quickly turned into a disaster. As I bent to wiggle under the fence my ears hummed. The power was on. I went back into the shade to wait it out. A broadcast wouldn’t last more than an hour. When the sun was well past its peak and the game in my bag was becoming questionable, I began to panic.

Walking parallel to the district cage, I look for any weaknesses to exploit. A large tree branch reaches out toward the Seam over the top of the fence. Its nine feet tall from the barbed wire down. The branch is maybe twelve feet from the ground below.

I climb out onto the sturdy limb. Once I am within the boundaries of the district, I plan my drop. The bushes are the only cushions for my fall. My feet dangle as I lower myself down. It should have worked. Maybe it would have if I’d moved down another yard.

My left boot catches on the y shaped stem in one of the bushes. Something snaps as my ankle twists in an unnatural direction. I hobble my way through the streets, trying my best to ignore the stab of every other step.

Prim and mother are at my sides when I pass through the doorway. “What happened!?!” My sister’s voice cries into my ear. I tell the story of my daring leap. They had quickly removed my boot and concluded nothing was broken when I finish the retelling. “You only needed to wait a few more hours, the power’s going off at 4.”

She regales me with the details of the broadcast that had started all this. The poorer Districts will be on a rotating power schedule. One day a week, 6 hours, we can rely on having power throughout the whole district. Our day is set for Wednesdays.

The throbbing in my ankle taunts me for my foolishness. It’s badly sprained and will require me to stay off of it for around four weeks. “Prim, will you go tell Peeta what happened? I don’t want him to panic when I’m not at the Hob tonight.”

Her blonde braids swing on her way out, two blonde heads return. Peeta is at my side before I can sit up on the thread bare sofa.

“Are you okay?? Prim said you jumped over the fence?” The panic I had hoped to avoid strained his words.

Prim playfully rolls her eyes behind his head, “I said, ‘Katniss had an accident. She tried to jump down from the fence, and now has a sprained ankle.’ But you’d already ran out of the bakery and were half-way to the Seam by the time I’d finished my sentence.”

“I’m okay. Just twisted it because I’m impatient.” He delicately examines my injury while I fill him in on what happened.  
“I thought you were out of the woods. It didn’t come on until almost 11.” Peeta's eyes glisten. A pained expression like he’s guilty of not preventing me from hurting myself.

It had been an unusually long hunting trip. I’d spent most of it working on gathering. I’ve been identifying wild patches of herbs on a rough map, seeing which ones I can protect or expand to make harvesting larger quantities easier. The project was a major undertaking, but I felt it was necessary ground work that could help the apothecary grow. Time got away from me and my game bag did not hold any meat. I quickly shot a pair of squirrels before trying to return home. I would already be later than I like for opening the Hob stand. The fence must have been on for less than an hour when I reached it.

Mother and Prim give him the details of my ‘plan of care’. “But I have so much to do!” I sound whiney when I hear myself.  
Peeta grins. “It sounds like Katniss Everdeen is going to have to accept some help, if she wants to heal.”

At first, he suggested he could carry me everywhere which I told him was ridiculous. He fashioned me a pair of crutches, another one of his pallet creations. They made getting to and from the Hob easy enough, Peeta just had to pull the cart there and back. He was supplying us with more than enough bread to make up for my lack of hunting.

I have a new favorite treat. Cheese buns. An embarrassing moan had escaped my lips when I first bit into the melty center. Peeta had brought them everyday since.

My ankle can finally fully bear my weight again. I am absolutely itching to get back out into the forest. Peeta insisted he come with me for my first hunt. I’m a bit annoyed about it. He’s doted on me enough. I won’t even be able to hunt properly with his crushing footsteps. He’d been so insistent; I didn’t want to argue after how much he’s been helping us the past month.

As we approach my usual entry point, something is wrong. High shrubs are growing where there used to be dirt. Peeta is watching me, a tentative smile on his face. We pass through a thin gap between the new greenery. Above the sunken dip that I’ve squeezed through thousands of times, sits a gate.

“You can go in and out even when the power’s on now.” His smile growing more confident. The edges where the fence and gate touch are all lined with split rubber tires. He shows me how to open it with a stick that he’s also wrapped in rubber. This seems to be an unnecessary extra precaution based on the way the latch is designed.

“Peeta, it’s District 12’s first gate.” I’m in awe of what he’s done.

“Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that. I guess it is!” He says before kissing my cheek.

“Well, I’ve got a busy day ahead of me at the bakery. Enjoy the woods, Katniss.” He calls while already walking towards town. I have not yet stopped looking at the open gate.

 


	9. Grow

The pale-yellow fabric of my mother’s dress, sticks to my back. The heat has always felt like an extra layer of punishment. Forcing us to line up during one of the hottest days of the year, during one of the hottest hours of the day. Whispers say the date was selected because it marked a major rebel loss, the most casualties suffered in a single day. But if it was simply selected for its weather, I could believe that too. Neither answer will be found in any of the history texts.

No one has forced us to stand here this time. There are Peacekeepers in their standard patrol posts, but they are not lined up with their guns at the ready. The Capitol would rather we all stay sheltered from the sun’s harsh rays, pretending it’s just another Sunday. If they were going to force us to be anywhere today, it would be home.

Yet here we are, crowded together in the square. We have not sorted ourselves by age or even Merchant/Seam. We are a united district, sorted by neighbor, friend, love and family. The idea caught fire somewhere deep in the mines and spread across 12, as if the coal dust in the very air itself was the fuel source.

Three notes. I hear the signal whistle. Slowly every miner, mother, shop keep, and child lifts three fingers to their lips before extending them high into the air. The square holds an eerie silence, before the wave of soft thuds starts. I look at the dense blob in my hand one more time, then close my eyes and release it to the ground.

I understand the symbolism. It’s an offering, a memorial; it’s a slap in the face of the Capitol, you don’t own us anymore; it’s a defiant reminder that we will not forget. How many of the dark headed, grey eyes that returned on the train in a box, were only in there because their family needed one more of these hard biscuits to get through the winter? Still, I feel an intense sting from the waste.

I go through the list in my head before I can open my eyes again. Rooba’s victory tour brought more food than the Seam has ever seen before. Plutarch’s presidency brought the first winter that I didn’t trip over a skeletally thin frame slumped in the street. A 35-year-old widow can go to the Justice building and get a round of tesserae, without a single one of her children needing to add another slip to the reaping bowl. We are not starving. Prim is not starving. I am not starving.

It starts so faint. As each person disperses from the square, they join the growing chorus. “ _Where they strung up a man, they say who murdered three….”_ Peeta slips his hand into mine. _“Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be...”_ I hold on to Prim’s hand and mother clinges to her arm. “ _If we met at midnight in the hanging tree.”_  “Are you, are you coming to the tree…” It is my voice’s turn; I sing the haunting melody and lead us away.

Prim and Mother continue back to the Seam, while Peeta and I sit on the bench in front of the Bakery. I recognize some of the faces that still linger in the square. Ones who emitted the ear-piercing wails after registering what name had just been drawn. They too begin to fade into the streets.

The ground is littered with the trampled crumbs of the bread that may always be associated with death and life at the same time. I don’t want to move, and I am grateful that Peeta does not feel the need to break the silence. The birds speak first.

They begin the work of cleaning up the feast we have laid out for them. Chirping and chattering with no regard to the meaning behind what they are stuffing into their beaks. But soon, echoes of the tune the district chose re-fill the air.

A flock of Mockingjays mimic the new song they’ve just learned. I watch as one seems to look right at me. She bends to scoop up a chunk of bread, spreads her wings and lifts off into the sky. She may be bringing it back to her nest, or keeping it for herself, or she’ll decide to drop it into the mud. She’ll do whatever she chooses, because she’s free.

 

Scrape, scrape, scrape. The shovel Peeta holds repeatedly digs into the earth. Harvest season is just around the corner. The work needs done before the ground freezes, if I hope to have a chance of meeting next year’s demand at the apothecary. He’s been helping me expand the patches of herbs where they naturally flourish in the woods.

After we’ve cleared space around the edges and spread the dried seeds into the freshly turned dirt, I stretch a thin net I’ve fashioned over the top. The barrier should encourage the local wildlife to move on to other, less useful foliage.

Once the task is complete, I mark the crude map and we return to my house. We’ll spend an hour or two sitting side by side, adding to my family plant book. Peeta sketches the location markers and any identifiers that are not in the current drawings. I busily write everything we’ve learned about each herb; growing conditions, processing, and the most popular recipes I need it for.

The times we’ve spent like this have quickly become some of my fondest moments. Each of us in our element; sometimes talking, sometimes just enjoying the other’s presence. Soft touches and kisses occasionally shared over the pages.

I’m hammering one of the net stakes into the ground, when I hear him crashing through the forest.

“Hey, do you need these for anything?” He’s holding out his hand.

“PEETA, NO!” I’m on my feet and smack them out of his palm. The small, round purple berries scatter among the fallen leaves.

“DID YOU EAT ANY?!?” The bile is rising in my throat, adrenaline igniting every nerve under my skin.

“No?! No, I just found a bush of them and brought them to you. I didn’t eat any, Katniss.” He speaks like he’s coaxing a child out of a bad dream. I’ve still got ahold of his wrist so I drag him to the closest stream.

“Those are nightlock, Peeta. Just the juice is enough to kill you.” I dip his hands into the flowing water, taking haggard breaths while trying to explain.

“I didn’t know, I’m sorry, Katniss. I didn’t know.” Shaking, I jump into his chest. He’s the only thing not spinning.

The emotions burst forth as the immediate danger fades. I cry into his shoulder, while he rubs my back. Apologizing repeatedly for picking berries that I may have needed.

I pull back to look into his overly apologetic eyes. “Peeta…..I need you.” The words are honest. Maybe not the words he’d like to hear. Not the words he’s whispered into my ear after a heated kiss in the woods. Maybe not even the words I wish I could say, but they are true all the same.

We’ve grown together. He’s part of me now. To lose him would be……I would be my mother. I’ve gained an insight into my mother’s depth of despair, after Father failed to return from the mines. If I lost the Boy with the Bread, I could just as easily slip into the dark and never come back. Mother had slowly come back for me and Prim, this may be the closest I can ever get to forgiving her.

“Will you stay with me?” I repeat the question he asked of me months ago. His eyes scan my face for whatever he can glean from the few words I can share.

“Always.” He pulls me close again, and my tears slowly dry on his shirt.

That evening we add nightlock to the book. I drift off to sleep on the sofa, safely wrapped in his arms.


	10. Time

We run through the familiar backdoor. My cheeks hurt from how much I’ve been smiling and laughing.

“You made it! Don’t know how you always manage to be right on the dot. Hey, grab those sweet rolls behind you, will ya?” Rye calls from the counter while his hands press into a fresh ball of dough.

Peeta grabs a towel and slips back into kitchen mode. “Some of us care about punctuality.”

The brothers go back and forth about how many years Rye has or hasn’t been late. I put the apron I’ve been using back on, thoroughly amused by the banter.

“You look like you had a lovely time! We’re prepping more pecan tarts.” Delly gestures to the task laid out before her. I join her side, getting back to business after the quick break.

The Harvest Festival really had been lovely. Our time limit had forced us to cherish every single one of those 49 minutes. We’d stopped for warm apple ciders with cinnamon sticks and a dollop of cream. I found Prim in the crowd and stole her away from her admirers for one dance. She filled me in on how she’d been splitting her company between Rory and the grocer boy who seems to be quite fond of her.

Peeta and I spent the rest of the time dancing to my favorite folk songs. When the music slowed, we shared a soft kiss without any of the unnecessary drama last year’s had brought. He has a well-honed internal clock because he knew exactly when we needed to return to the bakery, if we wanted our full hour next year.

“Maybe you had a better than lovely time.” Delly is smirking at me. I realize I never responded to her earlier remark.

“No, we danced and I didn’t run away so that always helps. It was nice, great actually.” She seems to be satisfied with my answer, that she hasn’t missed some new development.

The bakery is the busiest it has ever been. Everyone has a few coins to spare for this year’s festival, and the Mellark Bakery is top priority for where to spend them. All hands are on deck trying to keep up. Delly and I have been helping anywhere we can, mostly with prep work. Rye and Peeta are running the kitchen. Mr. and Mrs. Mellark are out front, and even the oldest brother, Graham, is here for the day.

Graham would have been signed the bakery by now, if Mr. Mellark had not snatched up the butcher shop as soon as the Grouses abandoned it for Victor Village. He got a bargain from the Justice department since the officials wanted a legal meat source on the books as quickly as possible. When you have three sons, I guess you better be ready should an opportunity arise. Graham was never in love with the bakery and happily accepted the butcher shop instead. His wife is expecting their first child any week now.

Mrs. Mellark pushes an empty tray through the front doors. “Ah, back on time for once. Didn’t know if you’d manage to remember to return, how often you’ve been absent lately.” She’s practically sneering at Peeta. All the previous joy that had filled the kitchen has been sucked up into her negative mouth.

My interactions with the family matron have been quite limited so far. I have plenty of memories of her shooing away the ‘seam trash’ from her establishment. Then there’s her involvement in the bread, the punishment Peeta took from her hand to give it to me. But since I’ve been spending more and more time with Peeta, she has mostly remained silent, the occasional curt nod directed my way.

When her sons reached the height to look her in the eye, they each defended themselves from her abuse. Graham had only needed to grab her arms once for her to move on to the easier targets. It was the main reason Rye and Peeta joined the wrestling team. To learn how to take down an opponent without injury. It didn’t take long for her to conclude that her power was gone when it came to physically intimidating her fully grown sons, she mostly ignored them now. As long as the bakery ran well enough that she could join the upper merchant ladies’ clubs, she was content to leave everyone alone.

“I see the Seam is still represented back here. Make sure your little girlfriend doesn’t eat into the day’s profits, please.” I inhale too quickly. I should have been ready for it to come eventually, mentally prepared for one of her class insults. She’s paid so little attention to me for so long, I’m caught off guard by the timing of it. Every bite of bakery bread sits heavy in my stomach.

Peeta and Rye both stop what they’re doing. Together they straighten up into an identical defensive stance. “I would suggest you apologize to my fiancée if you expect any of us to stay in this kitchen.” Her eyes flash to me when Peeta says ‘fiancée’. Only sheer force of will seem to prevent them from rolling back into her head. I do my best to meet her gaze.

Her lips slowly curl upwards, “You know I can still sign this bakery solely to Rye.” A burst of unnatural laughter comes from Rye and her head whips in his direction.

“Good luck with that, like I’d attempt to run this place without the best baker in Panem. You seem to forget we could both do just fine elsewhere.” He points his thumb to Delly then to me. “Question is, would you do just fine coming back to run this place without us?”

This is a bit of a bluff on Rye’s part. Maybe Peeta and I could scrape by if he ran the Hob stand while I put in more hunting hours in the woods. I’m having a hard time seeing how he and Delly would make it with the shoe shop, at least once her brother comes of age. It’s interesting to me that the two brothers whose future in or out of the mines was so uncertain, are so adamant that they are partners when it comes to the family bakery. A fact that disarms their mother from turning the business into a weapon.

She forces out the words, “I apologize.” Then dashes back out to the front of the shop.

“Congrats on the engagement Peeta, but it’s usually customary to ask the girl first.” Rye tentatively breaks the silence, while all three concerned sets of eyes study me. I’m frozen. I’m not sure if there is a hint of color left in my face.

“I wanted her to know you’re not going anywhere. If she thinks we’re serious and could be toasting, she’ll back off. I’m sorry Katniss, I’ll go as slow as you want. I promise. She basically spit the word ‘girlfriend’. You mean so much to me. Please, understand. I know how her mind works.” The words are falling out of his mouth as quickly as he can form them.

“Peeta, can we just…. talk about this later.” I manage to interrupt his overwhelming stream of speech. Rye and Delly have both found very interesting spots on the ceiling to hold their attention.  
We finish the evening with only the words required by the work.

The walk home is tense. I haven’t spoken yet and Peeta’s spent most of it ringing his hands and rubbing his neck. We’re only another block away from my door.

His words ‘fiancée’ and ‘toasting’ keep replaying through my thoughts. That’s where this is going, isn’t it? I guess I’d been so focused on the day by day that I hadn’t allowed myself to think about the what’s next. Is that really true though or have I been deliberately blocking the idea? Trying not to let my wariness about the future ruin how much I’ve been enjoying the present.  
How wary should I be now? Will my nervous system ever adjust to the new, safer District 12?

“I’d like to be your fiancée, Peeta.” He stops mid step.

“What?” His mouth stays open.

“I’m ready. For that next piece anyway. If you are, I ….” It dawns on me that even though Peeta used the word first, he might not be ready yet.

He looks like he could cry at any moment. Maybe I am the one who jumped too far ahead this time. I’m trying to think of how to take it back when he asks, “Will you meet me in the meadow tomorrow, before sunset?”

 

I can see his golden head sitting among the matching gold stalks as they ripple in the autumn breeze. He stands as I approach. The pressed blue shirt he’s wearing makes me feel more confident in the dress Prim chose.

“You’re here, real or not real?” I smile at the game he’s playing, like he might just be hallucinating that I’m standing in front of him.

“Real.”

“And you know what I’m going to ask? I’ll wait, Katniss. I’ll wait forever if that’s what you need me to do.” There’s a slight tremor in his voice, I’ve never seen him this unsure.

“I know.” I try to remain as steady as possible, taking both his hands into mine to give him an anchor to hold on to.

He takes a deep breath and a long look into my eyes, maybe trying to find any doubt I could be trying to hide. “I love you. I’ve loved you since we were five. You’re the strongest, most beautiful person I’ve ever met. I would be the luckiest man alive if you were my wife. Katniss, will you marry me?”

I do not let his words linger for even a moment before I answer, “Yes”. All the worry lines fade from his face, as they are replaced with the most delighted smile. He lifts me off the ground and spins me with my feet kicking into the air. The laughter dies on my lips as he runs a trail of kisses down my neck and lowers me into the bed of grass below.

His mouth finds its way back up to my jaw and his forearms press into the dirt as he hovers over me. I grip the front of his shirt. His kisses finally meet my open lips. He’s soft but strong, warm and safe. The reality that he’s promised himself to me, and I to him slowly spreads through every fiber of my being, and I only feel happiness.

When we break apart, he rolls up onto his side next to me. Studying every inch of my face as he takes out my braid to run his fingers through my hair. The sun is painting the sky with every shade of his favorite color. The words feel so easy right now, “I love you too, Peeta.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song inspiration- Fields of Gold by Eva Cassidy


	11. Home

The velvet sofa reminds me of the one from the Justice building waiting room. I run my hand up and down the fabric. Comforting myself in the foreign surroundings. I can see how these buildings got the reputation of having eyes in the walls, I can’t shake the unease in this place. 

“Hey, my beautiful wife!” Peeta pokes his head around the doorframe. 

“Shhh Peeta, what if Thom heard you.” I chide him. 

“He’s outside, putting the last chair in the cart. Besides, its not like he’d run to tell our families anyway. You know, I love being able to call you that.” He lowers his head just enough to show he’s barely sorry, the lopsided grin on his face daring me to tell him he can’t call me his wife whenever he wants. 

I rise to join his side, wrapping my arms around him. His fingers slowly graze across my back. I try to suppress the shiver it sends through me. My thoughts wander to the last time he moved his hand like that without the fabric barrier between us. 

“Let’s get out of here.” My voice is only above a whisper. We walk out the door of the house meant for a Victor, down to where Thom is waiting to take us home. 

Mayor Undersee opened the houses in Victor Village to be stripped out and sold in pieces. All the ornate furniture and quality building materials are slowly spreading through the district. One of Gale’s old crew mates, Thom, is charged with heading the project. 

The exceptions are the Abernathy and Grouse houses which stand silent, the windows and doors boarded up. When travel between districts was opened over the winter, the Grouses hopped on the first train. Start a new life where they aren’t recognized as the controversial victor’s kin. Rumor has it they resettled in District 4. There’s been much debate about how to properly memorialize the formerly occupied homes or if they should be burned down to build something new where they stood. Release the ghosts from their haunts. 

“Welcome home, Mr. Mellark and future Mrs. Mellark!” Thom stops the cart in front of the row house we’ve been assigned. Just across the street from Delly and Rye’s. I smile at his formal address to us, a glace over to Peeta reveals his sly smile matches my own. 

The job of unloading our new furniture doesn’t take long. We used our marriage filing voucher for the sturdy dining table and chairs. The rest we bought with the money Peeta’s been saving since our engagement; a small dresser, an electric oven, and the most heavenly soft bed I’ve ever laid on. 

Our electricity allotments from the capitol have been bumped up to 2 days a week now. If we use the time slots wisely with the oven, we should be able to speed up the preservation process on my herb and meat hauls. 

Before I know it Peeta is shaking hands with his brand-new friend and inviting him to our toasting tomorrow. I’m lost in the finished painting of the lake he’s hung in the entryway, when he climbs back up the steps. 

“Welcome home, Mrs. Mellark.” Shutting the front door behind him. You would think I’d start getting used to his new pet names after 6 weeks. 

“When did you hang this up?” We only officially filed at the Justice Building yesterday. It had been simple enough, a couple signatures. Peeta needed to provide proof of employment for our housing assignment. After a furniture voucher and appointment time for our public signing tomorrow, we were ushered back out the doors, clutching a slip of paper and set of keys. 

“Rye kicked me out of the kitchen this morning, said if I was going to be literally skipping around at an indecent hour, I could take that energy elsewhere.” He’s even bouncing a bit now.

I wander around to see what else he got done this morning. When we left here last night, we’d finished scrubbing the place from top to bottom and dropped off the chest of my few belongings. The kitchen cabinets are now stocked with dishes and some baking staples. Peeta and my clothes hang together in the closet. When I try to turn the handle to the second bedroom, it doesn’t move.

“I… uh, I wanted to make sure Thom didn’t open that one.” He’s not looking at me and his cheeks are becoming increasingly pink. Reaching around me he unlocks the room and pushes the door half open.

My eyes immediately land on the homemade easel set up by the window. A work in progress sits propped on its ledge. I recognize her, but only just. Her splayed dark hair and grey eyes, but the face is too soft, wearing an expression I’ve never seen staring back at me in the mirror. Then there is the rest of me, artfully laid bare down the canvas. I wonder if this is how Peeta saw me when he was lovingly gazing down the first time it had been so much better than simply pain free. 

Slowly, I take in the rest of the room. Several paintings hang on each small wall. Now I know why Peeta has shown me so little of his art until now. The rest of the paintings are more innocent than the one on the easel, but the subject matter is the same. My profile chewing a pencil, something I must have done a hundred times in history class. My braid across the back of my hunting jacket. Even a young girl in a red dress with two braids instead of one that I only recognize as myself because of the story Peeta has told me. Our first day of school so long ago. 

“Peeta…..” He’s stayed out in the hall, his hand rubbing his neck the way it always does when he’s anxious. 

“I guess you could say I have a bit of a muse.” He laughs nervously. 

“They’re beautiful.” His natural smile returns. “But, I’m not sure about having a shrine to me set up in the house.” 

He acts taken aback but the smile that remains tells me I haven’t actually offended him. “This is my favorite room! What else are we going to do with it, if not dedicate every inch to beauty?” 

The heat is rising up my neck, as I close the door behind me to join him in the hall. I still squirm under his overly lavish compliments. 

“You wanna test out the bed?” His voice is deep and rumbles everything inside me. 

“Don’t you think we should save something for tomorrow?” 

“I’ve saved the cake!” His wide grin is making his proposal all the more tempting. 

“We could go to the meadow.” My voice comes out husky. 

 

I fall back limp onto the blanket spread out in what has become our spot. My head feels like I’m underwater. The willow branches swirl above me, as I try to catch my breath. 

Peeta comes back up beside me and half flops down. His chest quickly rises and falls against me with his own shallow breaths.

A cool breeze ripples over our skin. I curl into him. Breathing in his warmth and his muskier than usual scent. The yellow dot catches my attention over his shoulder. I reach out and pluck it with it’s green stem. 

“I’ve never told you why I love dandelions.” Peeta opens one eye, attempting to focus on the flower I spin between our faces. “It was after the bread. At school the next day. Our eyes met but then I looked away, I…couldn’t thank you yet.” He’s looking past the flower now, watching me. 

“That’s when I saw it. The bright yellow there on the ground. And I knew how we were going to survive. Prim and I gathered every dandelion we could find from this meadow, and stuffed ourselves with them and the bread. I started hunting after that.” My eyes are beginning to glisten as I meet the blue ones, I had turned away from a lifetime ago. 

“You’re my dandelion, Peeta.” The love behind his eyes is almost too intense, before they close and his lips crash into mine. 

 

There’s the yellow dot again. But this time, it has been carefully crafted by hand out of sugar and sits on top of the most stunning cake I am sure has ever existed. 

It’s our lake, and my forest, and his sky. The bottom is a deep blue, surrounded by marshy reeds which hide a generous feast of katniss flowers. A warm house is tucked safely by the shore. The next tier is a thick green forest, resting above the lake just like it does on the hills. The last layer is a smooth mix of soft sunset oranges, pinks, and purples. But on the very top is where I am transfixed. A single dandelion rests next to a lone katniss. 

He presses his frame against my back. “We have to cut it soon, Mrs. Mellark. Your hungry guests are getting restless.” His words tickle my temple.

“We can’t. Its too gorgeous to eat.” I plead. 

“That’s never stopped me.” His low whisper makes a gasp escape my lips. Flashes of yesterday in the meadow replay in my mind. “What if I paint it for you?”

I release a heavy sigh, and lean into him. “Okay.” 

When the guests have had their fill and all the congratulations have been shared, we spill out into the street for the wedding march. The jumbled melody and laughter dance in the air around us. Peeta grips my waist, the silky peach fabric of the dress Delly gifted me sways between us. Our pace is too fast but no one seems to mind. 

We climb the steps of our new home. Peeta turns me to face our singing family and friends. Prim and Mother hold each other, bright matching smiles on both their faces. Even Peeta’s mother has joined in the chorus though her expression is still stern as ever. Delly is bawling as Rye attempts to console his overjoyed wife. 

The last verse begins. Peeta pulls me into a soft kiss and together we step across the threshold. Slowly closing the door on the merry wedding guests. 

The muffled sounds of their final notes leak into the entryway, as Peeta puts down the traditional loaf he’s been carrying. It will stay there until breakfast tomorrow morning. 

I reach for him and our mouths meet frantically. He’s already working on the front buttons down my dress when I pull back. 

“Wait, we still have to build the fire.” It’s tradition to check the newlywed’s chimney for the toasting smoke. 

“Grrrr.” He growls into my mouth with one more kiss. 

If there was ever a time when all his mornings starting the bakery oven fires would come in handy, it was now. Peeta has the hearth crackling before my heartrate can even return to normal. This time is somehow even faster than when he started the fire in the lake cabin. 

 

Winter had begun to lift, the signs of rebirth slowly returning. Peeta was eager to get back to his project by the lake. Every time we made the trek, he would pack a few boards. Slowly the old shack was coming back to life, our little home away from home. 

This time I would be packing some extra cargo of my own. A specific loaf of bread that Rye prepared for me, without so much as a second thought to why I’d come to him for it instead of Peeta. 

The air still had enough chill to make the hike unpleasant. The drizzle on the back quarter made it almost intolerable. We dove into the shelter, and Peeta had a fire started before my boots were fully unlaced. 

Heat poured out from the tiny hearth. Another heat was rising as well, while we sat huddled up together. Stripped down to our underwear, the damp clothes laid out to dry. 

“Peeta?” 

“Mhmm” He stayed fixed on the flames.

“Do you still want to wait til April?” His head jerked and all attention was on me now. 

His tone is measured. “I don’t have enough yet. We could probably afford a bed now, maybe. We already announced the date; people would assume you’re pregnant if we suddenly moved it earlier.” He’s sticking with the practical side of toastings. Carefully not adding any assumptions to the meaning of my question. 

“What about just us? Just you and me. The toasting is what makes you married. The rest is for everybody else.” My words are gentle, they hang in the air.

He opens his mouth to speak twice before saying, “I don’t understand.” 

I retrieve the bread from my bag. Lifting it into the fire glow. I see the recognition on his face. It’s the same type, full of raisins and nuts, hearty and rich. 

“You… you want to toast with me now??” His eyes are so wide. 

I search for words. This was too rash. I’m being impulsive. Well I’d planned it enough to bring the bread, at least. “If you want to, yes.” My voice is weak. 

He’s crying. I’ve made the Boy with the Bread cry. But then he’s kissing me, there’s urgency, need. The same hunger from the first time I brought him to this lake. Fire is rising inside me. He slows and very deliberately releases my lips.

There’s a determination in his face now. Carefully, he takes the bread from my arms. Tearing off a piece for each of us. We hold the chunks over the flames, reciting the old words. A promise spoken for only us. 

He lifts his charred piece to me and I lift mine. Together we eat the fire kissed life-giving bread. It tastes the same as the first loaf he burned for me. 

We fumble together clumsily by the firelight. My sharp cry reverberates off the walls. Peeta whispers a mix of apologies and gratitude into my hair. We fall asleep a tangled sticky mess. The Girl on Fire and the Boy with the Bread. 

 

Peeta turns from the fire and returns to our earlier position. Tearing at the dress he described as beautiful earlier, that now stands in his way. He hikes up the skirt while picking me up, my legs wrap around his waist. We fumble down the hall, never breaking our heated kiss. 

He drops me onto the plush bed. My moans escape out the open window. Now the whole world can know, that I am Peeta Mellark's wife. 

 


	12. Love

The kick under my hand reminds me that, once again, I have found it absentmindedly resting on my swollen belly.

The happy couple are receiving their ‘congratulations’ from the Head Peacekeeper. Five years ago, if you had told me keepers would be attending my sister’s toasting, I would have wondered what had gone horribly wrong.

Gale gives Prim a hug before releasing the glowing bride, so he can shake hands with the groom beside her. Cobb Hawkins’ smile is so big, I wonder if his cheeks are getting sore. The grocer’s second son was gifted the heart of the Seam’s healer piece by piece. Somewhere between shy stolen glances and nervous proposals love had bloomed.

Peeta’s chest presses into my back, placing his warm hands on top of the one on my stomach. “How are my girls doing?”

I can’t help the small huff from my mouth, “You seem pretty convinced of that.”

“If Prim says it, I believe it. She’s never steered me wrong before.” He kisses my hair and holds me close.

Our family, friends, and neighbors fill the space wall-to-wall, enjoying the bounty the forest, bakery, and grocery have to offer. Their joyful conversations bouncing off each other and overflowing into the district. 

“Have you seen a moment you want me to paint, yet?” Peeta’s voice is just as light as the rest of the guests. The future nursery’s walls are an ever-evolving project. Over time they’ve changed from a gallery of young infatuation, to one for the most cherished memories of our shared life.

I think through the day so far. “Did you see when Cobb tucked her hair behind her ear?”

“I did. I saw the looks on each of their faces too.”

Nodding I say, “I think I’d like you to paint them like that.”

Peeta hums his agreement before taking my hand to spin me around. He pulls me as close as my bump will allow. “I love you both so much, you know?”

I kiss him. My declarations are still more infrequent than his but he never seems to mind when I let my lips speak instead. His hand gently rubs circles on the side of the belly between us. 

It still scares me to think about the baby having to leave the safe cocoon I’ve grown inside me. Peeta keeps the fears from taking over. We have each other and when I hold our daughter in my arms, the rest of our life will begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers! I know this epilogue is brief but there's more to it than may initially meet the eye. I hope you've enjoyed this story. The chapter titles are everything I want for the beautiful ship that is Everlark. I want them to be safe, free, warm. To not just survive but to have a life. To accept a gift. To heal, grow and have all the food they could ever need. To have hope, time, and a place to call home. And above all to love and be loved.


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